Truth in a Lie
by Naito Tenshi
Summary: Look, another chapter on this thing! Wow. I am still no good at writing. XD XD XD Okay, enjoy if you can. If you're brave enough to read it. ;;
1. 1

Truth in a Lie

By Naito Tenshi

Author's Notes:

            Complete random spur-of-the-moment thing. I don't know where it came from. I don't know where it's going. It doesn't have a plot, a meaning, or anything deep going on. With that said, enjoy if you can.

            This story doesn't fit in with the timeline of the anime or the manga at all. Um. Sorry? Aheh, guess I've been doing too much roleplay lately.

            Oh, and one last thing; Gomen nasai, minna-san. I do not do first person. ^^;

            The crunch that my boots make as they meet the sand is the only sound that reaches my ears. It's the middle of the day, almost exact, and the suns are at their mutual zenith; the first a little past its pinnacle, and the second nearing its own. The heat, to most, is unbearable, but I guess after wandering the desert for so many years, you can't help but get used to it. A thin sweat does line my face, but it's cool and the rare breezes add a slight chill to it, making it something of a relief.

            Shapes begin to come into focus on the horizon, and by squinting my eyes, I can just make out that it's a town. I let a little sigh out; though the heat isn't too horrible, I could definitely go for a drink… or two. Hell, maybe even ten - all of the alcoholic variety, naturally.

            I can definitely feel my mouth watering at the prospect - and ever-so-rudely, my salivation-inducing thoughts are interrupted by a fast-approaching sound. As I turn to investigate this distraction further, I'm greeted with a new sound; the squealing of brakes and slight crunch of sand as the source of this sound begins its stopping process coming straight at me and hooks around to complete it at my side. Of course, this sound comes along with a face full of sand.

            "Hey there, Tongari," a familiar voice addresses me.

            Once I'm through coughing and choking on the sand, I open an eye only to meet the sight of one Nicholas D. Wolfwood, seated atop his motorcycle.

            "Is that how you always greet people?" I ask as I brush the sand off of my coat, not bothering to hide the slight annoyance in my voice.

            "Nope, just you," he responds, grinning in the way he only does when I know he's trying to irritate me.

            "Gee, lucky me," I mutter flatly, "So what brings my favorite priest all the way out here?"

            "I didn't know I was your favorite priest," he replies, his tone more than a slight mockery of being touched.

            "Well, I don't know any others," I shrug with a little smirk. Damn it, it's my turn to be annoying.

            "I'm touched, outlaw, really I am," he sounds irritated… score one for me.

            "You should be!" is my cheery reply, "But you never did answer my question. What brings you out here?"

            It really is rather odd to run into the same person as many times as I keep meeting up with Wolfwood. I've met people once on this planet and never seen them again, but he just keeps showing up. It's not that his presence bothers or unsettles me or anything like that; it's just that it's a little unusual. Kind of makes someone wonder if there's not a reason after the first few times.

            "Ah, nothing in particular," he says dismissively, "Just wandering and ending up where I will… as far as my girl will take me."

            I raise an eyebrow, "Your girl?"

            "Angelina," he grins, nodding his head down towards his bike.

            "I see. So your bike has a name…" I didn't say that like I thought Wolfwood should be institutionalized. Really I didn't.

            Okay, maybe just a little.

            "Yes, she has a name," He really doesn't sound amused this time… "And she and I were going to offer you a ride to the next town," he jerks his head towards the horizon, "But you know, I think you've hurt her feelings. So, I'll see you when you get there!"

            "Hey! Wait a minute!!" I screech as 'Angelina' roars and begins to speed away.

            "I'll save you a stool at the bar, Mr. Vash the Stampede!" Wolfwood shouts over his shoulder.

            …stupid priest.


	2. 2

Truth in a Lie

Psychopath's Notes: Look, I figured out (at least a little) where this one is going. I present to you all; a NON-YAOI Vash + Wolfwood friendship fic. Booya.

Chapter 2

            The amber liquid swirls in my glass. It's almost a mesmerizing thing, and watching it keeps me from making eye contact with any of the number of unsavory patrons the saloon has managed to attract today. With this lot, I'm more than confident, to say the least, in my ability to take any of them down. At the moment, though, I'm in no mood to deal with a brawl with a mob of drunks... nor am I in the mood to listen to the whining of one outlaw I happen to be expecting. After all, Lord forbid I should defend myself.

            This particular outlaw happens, as is usual, to be the topic of conversation in my current locale. If nothing else, the tales are amusing. Not because he's incapable – physically, at least - of what they're saying he's done, but because the mere thought of anyone doing the sort of things he's accused of would be enough to set him into a typical round of hysterical crying, which, naturally, yours truly would get to deal with. That sort of thing was _not in the job description._

            The job. Hmm. I could almost forget, sometimes, that I wouldn't be here were it left up to me. Not that I would leave – I couldn't abandon that idiot now, not after some of the things I've seen him face, that I've helped him get through. I just wouldn't have ever stumbled across him in the first place had I been left to my own devices. Not that it really matters, now. My job is to protect him, which works well enough, as it means I get paid to keep my friend alive and out of too much trouble. Of course, there is the eventual objective... but I wasn't given a deadline, and the boss has got plenty of time and more to worry about getting his brother to him. I don't know what it is the bastard intends to do with him, but I won't be the one to hand him over to Knives.

            I'm cut out of my reverie by a collective gasp from my fellow patrons. Word has reached them, apparently. Vash the Stampede is on his way to their unsuspecting little town. I've seen the routine sixty billion times by now – this is where they panic. The ones willing to admit their fear will run for their homes. The ones who want to feign bravery will sit in this saloon, fingers on their triggers, and talk about what they're going to do with their reward money. And I... sit here and laugh. Because they won't see him coming, they won't know it's him when he's right under their noses, and more than likely, he'll be the one who's saved all their asses in a matter of days when my "esteemed" coworkers come trailing after him 

            The usual routine begins – one of the cowards, on his way out, warns a man entering the bar, draped in a long red coat, that the legendary outlaw is on his way. The man in red shoots him a smile and thanks him for the warning, then waves after him as he goes. I let out a good chuckle as I order a drink for Vash the Stampede.


End file.
